


Refuge

by Cacoethic



Series: For Your Ghost [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Sex, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Vomiting, spoilers for November
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 15:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cacoethic/pseuds/Cacoethic
Summary: you're already home and you don't even know it / you have a room you can return to, and you'll never outgrow it





	Refuge

**Author's Note:**

> i cant stop thinking about akechi lmao. its fine. anyway lately a lot of The Antlers songs have been reminding me of him, specifically Refuge & I Don't Want Love.  
> as the tags say, this story contains someone being drugged against their will, though no sex (consensual or otherwise) occurs.

A woman twice his age gestures to her lap as Akechi struggles to maintain consciousness. Trying his best to be polite, always polite, he shakes his head ‘no’ and stumbles off in obvious search of the bathroom. A firm hand lands on his lower back and he shrinks away from the contact before seeking its source. A man with a face stuck permanently in a taunting grin leads him away from the crowd, indicates the restroom and tries to squeeze his behind before Akechi can get inside and lock him out. Collapsing on the other side of the door, thankful the noise from outside is muffled at last, he weighs his options.

The adults outside want to eat him alive, that much is certain. He’s been to parties like this before, has even had alcohol before, but has never felt quite like _this_. Like he’s barely able to control his limbs, like he could pass out at any moment. Concerned more for his image than his body, he idly muses that someone may have drugged him with the intent to cause him embarrassment. This thought fuels an anger so thick it cuts through the heavy confusion setting in and leads him to act.

It’s been less than a week since the group exchanged contact information and Akechi has already seen fit to contact Akira personally, with a rather odd message at that. The first message contains exact GPS coordinates leading him to a rich neighbourhood he’s never set foot in before, one he’d never dream of visiting. The second text takes a minute, and is sorely lacking in the explanation Akira desires: a simple “please”.

He doesn’t bother contacting the rest of the Thieves to get their opinions, knowing they’ll do everything they can to discourage him from going. It certainly could be a trap, though Akira notes with grim confidence that Akechi has already decided the day he’ll be dying. All the Phantom Thieves know at this point that the detective is a traitor. They know, even, of his plans to murder Akira in cold blood. Akira knows this most of all, as he’s spent the past few nights sleepless despite Morgana and Futaba’s help to prepare him for the approaching day. But at least it means he’s probably safe tonight.

Boss has already left for the night, blessedly sparing Akira any sort of questioning, though Morgana fusses rather loudly when the door shuts in his face unceremoniously. Akira always takes Morgana on his adventures at night, even when he goes to the Red Light District or somewhere equally unsavoury. Tonight is quite different: he can’t ever keep his mouth shut, and Akechi might be in serious trouble. Perhaps if Akira lends him a hand tonight, he’ll think twice about killing him! But he’d be lying to himself if he said that was his only motivation to ditch Morgana and head to an unfamiliar part of town this late at night. He’ll buy the cat some sushi later to make up for it, that is, assuming he survives the night. For now, there are more important things to be dealt with.

Judging an urgency based off the strange contents of the message, Akira opts to spend his precious money on a cab to the address. The coordinates are smack-dab in the middle of the house, leaving him to guess how exactly he’ll get inside. He may be a thief extraordinaire inside Mementos and other people’s palaces, but in the real world he’s done very little (read: none) house infiltrations. Luckily, he spots Akechi sitting outside once the cab pulls up. He asks the driver to wait before running out to the lone figure on the sprawling steps of a modern-day mansion.

Akechi offers him a prepared smile as he approaches, nearly out of breath from climbing so many god damn stairs in a hurry, one of many fake smiles in his litany. But something’s off. Though he’s dressed to the nines, there’s no hiding the stain of vomit on his shirt and the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “My apologies,” he slurs, ever the gentleman. “It appears as though someone may have drugged me.”

Alarmed by this statement and eager to get the older boy out of there as quickly as possible, he offers the other a hand up and guides him slowly down the endless stairs. The cabbie rolls his eyes when he sees the pair approaching. “If he throws up in my car, I’m kicking you both out,” he declares as Akira manages to cram Akechi into the back seat. Joining him in the back to monitor his condition and avoid the asshole driver, Akira simply nods while maintaining eye contact with him in the rearview mirror.

“Back to Yongen-Jaya, please,” he tacks on a nicety just in case Akechi really does blow. For now, he’s lying rather still as Akira attempts to buckle his seat belt for him. The sound of the ‘click’ sends relief washing over Akira, though worryingly Akechi seems to have little control over his body. Luckily the cab driver doesn’t seem to recognize either of them, far too eager to drop them off and be rid of this mess. If Akechi could see himself now he’d surely be embarrassed: head lolling off to one side, eyes unfocused, breaths coming out unevenly. An idea forms in his head that has him walking right past the café when the cab drops them off. Akira hands him a fistful of money, aware he is grossly over-tipping the rude man, but hopes it keeps him quiet should he later recall just who Akechi is.

The lights in the clinic are still on, which surprises even himself. It was a shot in the dark, but he knows Takemi won’t let him down. When he charges through the door with a rapidly deteriorating Akechi, she stands up behind the counter and rushes out to greet them. “I’m not- what are you doing here? This isn’t a hospital!” her voice is laced with anger but she leads them to the back room all the same, locking the front door as an afterthought.

“Someone drugged him,” Akira explains matter-of-factly, as Akechi now seems too far gone to explain anything at all. Takemi frowns, the recognition apparent once she pushes back Akechi’s mop of sweaty hair to check his pupils with a flashlight. She performs a few more reflexive tests, it increasingly apparent to both sober parties in the room that he has failed them all. She sends Akira off to get her things while checking his blood pressure, slipping into crisis mode so quickly that Akira finds himself on edge. Sure Akechi seemed pretty out of it, but was it something this dangerous? Takemi slides some black powder into his half-open mouth and has Akira hold his head up to help the boy wash it down with water.

“Where did you find him?” she asks angrily as Akira struggles against the deadweight of his … friend? teammate? soon-to-be-murderer? maybe sorta crush? Takemi’s hand on his shoulder pulls him out of his thoughts and he sputters an answer, giving the address and explaining the state in which he found Akechi. She shakes her head in disgust before going back to attending to him. An oxygen mask comes to rest on the other boy’s face, the blood pressure cuff not leaving his arm. Takemi had put on a song and dance about not being prepared, but when it mattered she was ready.

“Thank you,” Akira finds himself telling her sheepishly. She nods curtly, clearly more interested in Akechi’s health than any form of thanks. He seems to be fast asleep now, the only assurance that he’s alive coming from the beeps of the heart rate/blood pressure monitor and his slowly rising and falling chest. Satisfied with her work, Takemi sits back and becomes receptive to conversation once more.

“Probably rohypnol,” she asserts with a fair bit of confidence. Akira had heard the word before, but didn’t realize it was a thing that actually happened to people in _Japan_. A little embarrassed by the thought, he realizes all at once what rohypnol is generally used for and thanks the universe that he risked his neck to rescue this boy. “I’ll be able to testify if he wants to press charges but … I doubt he’ll know who did this to him. He may not remember tonight at all,” she looks pointedly at Akira now, obviously wondering what exactly their connection is. The Detective Prince had called out to him for rescue, after all, though Takemi couldn’t hope to understand just how complicated their relationship is without talking it out for an hour or so.

“I… don’t think he’ll want to press charges,” Akira explains morosely, unable to hide the glum look on his face. Akechi would probably be upset Akira had seen him this way, much less Takemi (despite all the measures she’d taken to help him). He can’t bear anyone seeing past his well-manicured barrier. Even though someone drugged him, he’ll find a way to blame himself once he comes to. Surprisingly, the doctor nods in understanding. Letting out a yawn – it’s now well past 1 AM, though luckily tomorrow (today) is a Sunday – she stands up from her stool and pats Akira’s head affectionately.

“You did good bringing him here,” she gives him a small, affectionate smile, one Akira has begun to grow accustomed to. With a look over Akechi’s steadily sleeping form, she speaks again “I was worried he may have overdosed but I think he’s in the clear. The activated charcoal I gave him should save him from the worst of it but he may be throwing up a lot when he wakes up. And… I kinda need this exam room for tomorrow. Can I trust you to watch over him for the next, say, 24 hours?” Akira doesn’t bother trying to hide his surprise at the question but nods eagerly all the same. Nursing Akechi back to health sounds almost fun, like catching the detective off-guard but for an entire day straight. He listens carefully to the instructions Takemi gives him and promises to take the other boy to a hospital should anything worsen overnight before slinging Akechi over his shoulder and heading out into the night.

The streets of Yongen-Jaya are eerie this late at night, so Akira wastes no time returning to Leblanc. Morgana is pacing the counter moodily as the pair enters. He looks up to complain but stops abruptly as he notices the predicament Akira is in. “What did you _do_ ,” he hisses as Akira pointedly ignores him and locks the door behind him.

“You’re not supposed to be on the counter,” Akira speaks low, careful not to wake the boy currently clinging to him for support, definitely half-awake but maybe not consciously. Morgana scoffs in response, obviously furious at being excluded but his concern for Akira overriding any smart remark he could think of making. “He needed help,” Akira explains as he trudges up the stairs, Morgana following cautiously behind. “I can’t leave him alone.”

The next fifteen minutes pass awkwardly, with Akira finally peeling off Akechi’s vomit-stained clothes and leaving him in only his boxers before bundling the boy into his only blanket and going downstairs to fetch some water and an appropriate vomit receptacle. Morgana mercifully decides to give them privacy, curling up on a booth for the night with much indignation and fanfare. On Takemi’s instructions, he forces some water down Akechi’s parched throat, helping him sit up so he doesn’t choke on it. Unsure of what to do with himself afterwards, he self-consciously changes into his PJs and moves the space heater closer, using some spare clothes as a makeshift blanket. Two hours later his alarm goes off, reminding him to check on Akechi and give him more water.

Surprisingly, this time it wakes him from his stupor. Perhaps it was the water Akira accidentally splashed on his face in the clumsy process of helping him drink, or perhaps he’d begun to feel better. The unmistakable look of someone about to throw up that rose to his face quickly proves otherwise. Akira thrusts the small empty trashcan he’d chosen for this purpose (lined for easy clean-up, even!) into the other boy’s hands, which it slides out of instantly. With a sigh, he realizes just how much ‘fun’ helping Akechi will be.

Balancing the trash can between them and holding Akechi’s hair back for him proves to be a difficult task. Hearing the other boy retch and watching with fascination as black liquid comes out of him sends a shockwave of nausea through Akira, though he refuses to succumb. Once Akechi seems to be done, he retrieves a washcloth from the bathroom, wets it, and returns to wipe the corners of the older boy’s mouth.

“Akira, look,” he sounds just as drunk as before, though quite a bit more lighthearted. “This came out of me,” he gestures to the black pool of liquid in the bin on the floor beside them. Akira nods, only a little taken aback by the other’s casual use of his first name. Akechi has never addressed him by his first name with no honorifics before, but it feels nice. He resolves to give it a try himself – Takemi had said, after all, that he might forget everything once he felt well. “Does this make me cleaner inside?”

“I think so,” Akira is taken aback once again by how _cute_ Akechi is, as well as how _angry_ he’d be if he knew Akira was seeing him like this. For now, he indulges both of them. “But I think you’re fine just the way you are, _Goro_.” The sound of his name being called has somewhat of a sobering effect on the older boy, meaning only that he now speaks more clearly and with more desperation than a drunk person could manage.

“Can you call me that again?” he pleads, holding onto the sleeve of Akira’s pajamas and looking up into his eyes pathetically. Luckily his breath smells of nothing, or the scene would be considerably less endearing.

“Sure, _Goro_ ,” Akira takes note of the shiver running down Goro’s spine. “I’ll call you _Goro_ whenever you want me to,” without realizing it, Akira has put his arm around the boy’s shoulders and leaned their heads together. He wonders, briefly, if what he’s doing is just like taking advantage of a drunk person. The thought chills him, and he releases the other boy before they get too caught up in the moment. “But for now you should go back to sleep,” he smiles in a way reminiscent of every fake smile Goro’s ever given him.

“Stay here with me,” the older boy has a devilish grin on his face, one Akira has never seen before. It’s genuine and adorable and so tempting that he nearly succumbs before laying the detective back down and bundling him up again, only to return to his lonely couch. Goro sniffs from across the room. “I won’t throw up on you, Akira,” he promises.

“I believe you,” Akira bites his tongue to stop himself from continuing, but it’s in vain. “But we can’t do this. You aren’t in your right mind,” he tries to explain fruitlessly.

“On the contrary,” Goro sounds increasingly sober now, but he’s not to be trusted. Aside from all the normal reasons (blackmail, betrayal, his plans for Akira’s imminent death at _his hands_ ), Akira can’t allow himself to take advantage of the other boy. No matter how desperately he wants to wrap his arms around Goro and keep him safe, fix whatever problem he has that makes him so desperate and angry, it’s an impossibility. It would be unfair. “I am practically sober now. And I want you to get in bed with me.”

He’s only human though, after all. Thrusting the makeshift clothes-blanket off of himself and throwing the blanket off of Goro only to crawl underneath it, Akira knew he was making a mistake. Nestling his chin into the crook of the other boy’s neck, wrapping his arms around the surprising skinny torso in front of him, going so far as to insert his knees into the backs of Goro’s own… Morgana is blessedly sleeping downstairs, else he’d be clawing both of their eyes out. “That’s better,” Goro whispers into the quiet of the room. An advantage of sharing the bed is there’s no need for alarms; Akira would surely be woken if something was amiss. He turns off the alarms he’d set for the night, choosing to leave only the one that should go off shortly before Boss gets back in to open up. They sleep through the night, intertwined. The most peaceful sleep either has had all week, and considerably longer for the famed detective.

Waking up is another ordeal altogether. Goro finds himself waking up to an alarm not his own, a head-splitting hangover, and a pair of arms wrapped resolutely around him. Panic sets in quickly as he realizes his limbs aren’t behaving the way he’d like them to, that everything is going too slowly and he can’t seem to escape whoever is chaining him to the strange bed he’s found himself in. An unmistakable chuckle from behind causes _something_ to twitch, and he doesn’t have time to be embarrassed before the arms around him recede.

“Sorry,” Akira’s voice comes from close behind him. “You were really needy last night,” the satisfaction in his voice is glaringly obvious. He remembers the night only in pieces- the awful party, different hands on him and feeling off, desperately texting Akira, throwing up on his shirt, a punk in a white coat feeding him charcoal, and finally… begging Akira to join him in bed. Hopefully revealing he wanted to sleep next to Akira was the most private thing he’d divulged last night. Akira’s countenance seemed unchanged, so certainly he didn’t know… he couldn’t know.

“Well I’m glad _someone_ had fun while I was drugged and puking my guts out,” he manages to sniff indignantly, still unable to remove himself from the bed despite trying desperately. His limbs give out from under him each time as he slowly but surely works himself into a panic trying to get out of Akira’s sight before he embarrasses himself further.

“Hey,” Akira’s voice comes closer, speaking almost directly into his ear now. “It’s okay, I’m not going to do anything to you. You’re safe here,” he’s heard this promise before, but never once believed it. This time, though, he knows Akira can be trusted. Knows, after all, that Akira is the only one who would ever rush to his side should he need help. Even with all he’d done to endear himself to his _father_ , Shidou would surely leave him to die should he slip up in the slightest. He can’t afford to go to those parties anymore, regardless of how it affected his appearance to skip.

“Akira, I can’t…” he catches himself a moment too late, choking on the words as he realizes what he’s done. Remembers, then, that he’d done it last night as well. And that Akira had reciprocated, had offered to call him Goro whenever he desired. Had it just been words said to assuage someone acting like a drunken fool?

“Goro,” Akira whispers, adding ‘mind reader’ to the list of all his impossible talents. “Everything will be okay. I’ll protect you,” neither boy is sure they truly understand what he’s referring to. Goro privately pretends he means from everything, pretends Akira knows what fate he’s decided for him and that all the same he’s pushing through and promising _this_.

“You can’t,” Goro returns stiffly. “Now can you please help me get dressed?” focusing on the concrete details is imperative in situations such as this. Akira acts immediately, getting up and moving around the room in search of clothes. Goro finally manages to turn over onto his back, no longer facing the wall, able to watch Akira flit about from the corner of his eye. He comes over with a loud graphic tee and a pair of sweatpants they both know The Detective Prince wouldn’t be caught dead in. Unable to even sit up properly, he need only signal with his eyes that he’s uncomfortable for Akira to nod and close his own. The sight is absurd, one boy holding the other upright and trying to dress him with his eyes shut firmly.

“Fine!” Goro has an outburst unbecoming of his usual calm façade, though that image of him has surely been shattered in Akira’s mind by now. “You can open your eyes. Just, get these fucking clothes on me already.” Akira obeys with a gentle smile, lifting his heavy limbs and sliding him into the outfit pretending the boy beside him isn’t approaching on hysterics. Goro is only a smidge taller than Akira, and about as lean, but the clothes feel too short either way. Out from under the blanket for several minutes now, he finds himself shivering in the November air. His muscles will only move to betray him, it seems, though when Akira picks up on it and crawls back into bed with him it doesn’t feel like a punishment at all.

Boss yells up the stairs at noon. “I know it’s Sunday, but the cat is driving me crazy! If I had customers I’d be kicking you out of bed myself!” Akira leaves Goro asleep in bed, knowing he can’t follow anyway, before going downstairs to face Morgana. There aren’t many places he can have a private conversation with a cat, so he shoots Futaba a text and finds himself walking towards Boss’ house with what must sound, to normal people, like a very noisy cat. Morgana has called him nearly every name in the book by the time they reach Futaba’s room. “You _know_ he can’t be trusted and you still do things like this, putting yourself in danger, putting the whole operation at risk…” Morgana hisses as the door swings open.

Unsure how to explain, he deposits Morgana in Futaba’s hands and stands in the doorway for a moment. Before he can turn away without saying a word, Futaba takes a free hand and reaches out to him. “Is it true? Did you bring Akechi to Sojiro’s café last night?” the feeling of betrayal in her voice is apparent despite an obvious attempt to hide it. Why can’t any of them understand?

“He needed me,” Akira can only bring himself to reply. Questions hang in the air between the three of them until Morgana, ever understanding, concedes.

“Fine,” he huffs. “He did look really out of it. But don’t tell him anything. And… you know you’re only hurting yourself, right? By getting closer to him.” Some people claim cats are expressionless, but Morgana has such a clear look of sympathy on his face that Akira has to look away before he nods. Of course he’s only hurting himself. He can’t help it.

After successfully depositing Morgana with Futaba and being almost certain they’re going to spread last night’s events to the entire team, Akira steels himself to be interrogated later. For now, he asks Boss if he can make some curry and heads upstairs with two generous servings, plus two coffees balanced in one hand. Working at the beef bowl shop wasn’t all for naught, it seems. If Sojiro notices he’s bringing up way too much stuff for one person, he says nothing.

Goro is exactly where he left him, predictably. “I brought some food,” Akira grins, knowing the smell of coffee might help the other boy perk up. Surprisingly, he’s now able to sit up a bit on his own. Takemi said the effects could last for days, but he must have a remarkable recovery time. Placing a tray of curry on his lap, however, demonstrates that he’s not fully there yet. The tray holds fast, but he can’t seem to lift up the spoon.

“Ah,” he smiles weakly. “It seems as though my dexterity has been hindered.” Akira can only smirk in response.

“Guess I’ll have to feed you, huh?” his reply was mostly tongue-in-cheek, but after watching Goro’s face turn completely red he _has_ to deliver. “C’mon, don’t be shy. It’s not like we haven’t played house before,” the smirk refuses to leave his face. Goro nods before opening his mouth wide in annoyance, waiting impatiently for food to be delivered to him. Now turning a bit red himself, Akira blows on a small bite of curry before shoving it into the other boy’s mouth and hastily looking away.

“Are _you_ feeling shy now?” Goro teases lightheartedly. _You’re only hurting yourself_ Morgana’s words echo in Akira’s mind as he shakes his head ‘no’ and carries on with the charade.

By the time their curries are finished, the coffees left to sit on Akira’s desk have cooled. He couldn’t possible feed both of them and also give them both coffee, so he made sacrifices. Goro’s fingers shake as he tries to hold the cup. Akira wonders exactly how much of that is real as he observes the contented grin on the boy’s face as Akira tips the cup to his lips. “Delicious,” his smile is blindingly bright and shockingly fake. Akira didn’t expect him to revert back to his ace detective persona so quickly, though it had been fun while it lasted.

“Looks like you’re starting to feel better!” Akira breaks the spell they’ve been under for over 12 hours now with unintended ease. There’s a nod in response, coupled with a few excuses about not being able to walk properly, leading to the proposition of a movie night. Akira has a few DVDs lying around, Akechi is incapable of doing anything _but_ lying around: they make a night of it. Akira takes a trip to the laundromat to clean up the boy’s spoiled clothes, wondering how he plans to make it to school tomorrow in his state. Leaving the clothes in the wash, he grabs some snacks and chances a look at his phone.

Messages abound from his friend, especially Ryuji, asking him what the hell he’s doing and begging him to stop hanging out with someone who wants to kill him. Ryuji tries to get all coded with it and fails, Ann asks him to promise he’s okay, Makoto says she’s disappointed but not mad and Haru tells him to be safe and “follow his bliss”. She has to know. Maybe they all know.

When he returns Goro is watching the movie with unhidden disinterest. “I’m a detective, you know,” he states mildly as Akira comes up the stairs. “Crime dramas are so… overdramatic.” Flashing an apologetic smile, Akira puts on a comedy instead, aiming the TV more towards the bed and settling in next to his crush without much of a second thought. If this is the time they get together, he’s going to make the absolutely most of it. He dares to grab the other’s hand under the blanket and is surprised when Goro makes no movement to get away.

“You know I can’t move very well,” he looks away in an attempt to retain his dignity, full of half-hearted excuses. Akira can see the blush ghosting on his cheeks, knows how hard he’s fighting back from being honest with himself. Truthfully, Akira is fighting back from forcing him to. Not fighting very hard, however, as he lets something slip.

“You’re sitting up on your own,” his voice shakes despite himself. “I’m sure you could pull away if you wanted to.” Goro’s attention snaps back to him, movie forgotten in the background, unable to think of something witty to say. Akira advances. One hand on top of the other’s becomes a hand in his hair.

“Hold on, I really must-” a gasp gets caught in his throat as Akira dares to nip at his ear. Hearing himself turns Goro red all over again. Despite his protests to the contrary, he’s quite fine using his limbs now and scurries away from the other boy in self-defense. “I need to shower, I can’t, you don’t want t-”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Akira crawls towards him, unaware of just how hungry he’s been for this moment. It’s true that Goro has been run ragged over the past nearly 24 hours and could stand to go home and have a shower, but the second he’s left Akira’s sights they’ll certainly go back to normal. It’s obvious to Akira that the older boy is incapable of being intentionally vulnerable. He has to take advantage of this while he can, however dirty a tactic it might be. “I won’t do anything you don’t want,” Akira tries to reassure him, despite his predatory approach. Goro is backed to the edge of the bed, looking around the room uncertain of his next move.

“Let me brush my teeth and have a bath,” he begs earnestly. “We can do whatever you want after that.” Akira doesn’t bother repressing a sigh. Whatever _he_ wants, huh? Not what Goro wants. He’s not a bad guy, after all. He wouldn’t push something on someone that they didn’t want.

“We should get you home,” he rose from the bed and offered a hand to his companion. “I’ll pay for the cab. And I’ll return your clothes next time we go to the Casino. You can keep those ones if you want… they’re old.” Goro’s confusion is clear on his face, but Akira offers no answers. Instead, he helps the older boy up and guides him out of the room, calling a cab before he could refuse. The shop has been closed for a while now, Boss no doubt noticing something was off but thankfully not prying. “Feel better!” Akira smiles as he ushers Goro, now able to walk but a little unsteadily, into the cab and offers the driver his fare. Before he can forget, he takes the detective’s clothes from the washer and transfers them to the dryer. Not eager to return to his empty room and mope, he heads to Futaba’s room to retrieve Morgana.

Futaba motions for him to come in wordlessly, Morgana perched on her shoulder as they both pore over the contents of her computer screen. Akira sinks to the floor as the door shuts behind him, feeling simultaneously more tired and wired than he ever has in his life. Spending all that time with Akechi – Goro, he corrects himself – was electric and terrifying and he wishes he could live it on repeat for a few more days at least. Maybe next time he’d be a little pushier, or on one loop he’d make Goro beg for him more. His head in his hands, he listens to the idle tapping of Futaba’s fingers on her keyboard before they came to a surprise halt.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asks tentatively, shocking Morgana who had no doubt been about to speak as well. Akira shakes his head at first, then begins to speak all the same.

“I messed up,” the words only become true to him as he speaks them. He’s been living a dream for so long that he forgot he isn’t invincible. He’d wanted to kiss Goro so badly in that room and for all his grandstanding and teasing he hadn’t been able to do it. He didn’t even really know how Goro felt about him – who would want to sleep alone, after all, after such a scary experience? Akira was just convenient and trustworthy, easy to manipulate and dependable until the end. However hard he tried to convince himself that Goro had just been using him, though, he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. There had been something there, some bond of trust that he almost certainly couldn’t fake. _Almost_ certainly. Almost.

“It’s okay,” Morgana’s voice brings him back to reality. “You were right that he needed you. And what kind of Phantom Thief wouldn’t help someone in need!” Futaba nods vigorously alongside him, cluing him in that they’d probably rehearsed this bit. The gesture is appreciated, albeit frustrating.

“I think I’m in love with him,” Akira speaks with the intention of throwing a wrench in their all-knowing atmosphere. But they nod all the same; it must have been obvious after all. Futaba rises from her chair, uses all of her strength to pull him up alongside her, and gives him a much-needed hug. Morgana, with much effort, transfers from her shoulder to his during said hug. Futaba, the little sister he never had, looks up at him sweetly with a hint of sadness behind her eyes.

“It’s okay, Akira,” her voice is soft and raw, as though his despair is somehow her own. “It’s okay to love him. But when the time comes, you have to know you can’t trust him.”

He knows.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like this is the fluffiest i can write an akeshu fic but maybe i should challenge myself more. ah, also, i may write a continuation of this for december but for now im considering it a stand alone. thanks! OH PS i LOVE futaba as a little sister, i want to write like fuckin. sibling fluff about her/akira or smth lol. ahhh i wrote too much here. bye!!


End file.
